


I have only ashes, my son

by LadySpearWife



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, F/M, Fall of Gondolin, Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, First Age, Fluff and Angst, Gondolin, Hurt/Comfort, Mother-Son Relationship, Quenya Names, let's talk about tuor and eärendil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 20:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13578360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySpearWife/pseuds/LadySpearWife
Summary: Tuor wasn’t even pretending to be asleep when Itarillë came in and spoke, her voice stern and quiet in the tent’s darkness:“Our son misses you.”I miss him too, he thought helplessly.





	I have only ashes, my son

**Author's Note:**

> we need to talk more about tuor and eärendil's relationship
> 
> quenya name for you, quenya names for me, quenya names for everyone
> 
> Itarillë = Idril  
> Turucáno = Turgon (the c sounds so strange but it's the correct form)  
> Ondolindë = Gondolin
> 
> i doubt the noldor, in the first age, would use sindarin names, especially in a place so isolated from both the Ban and the Ban-adopting sindar as Gondolin. i know there were some there, but let me be happy with quenya names

Tuor wasn’t even pretending to be asleep when Itarillë came in and spoke, her voice stern and quiet in the tent’s darkness:

“Our son misses you, Tuor.”

 _I miss him too_ , he thought so helplessly, though smiling a little for his wife. Only the Valar above knew how agonizing was the ache of not having his sunlit child around, and yet, as the leader of the few soldiers who remained and always in battle no matter the odds, there wasn’t a single moment not filled by swords’ song, terrible beasts and paralyzing fear. One so young and so fragile shouldn’t see this bloodstained nightmare after the Fall. Ondolindë was no more, but its ghost was everywhere.

“I wish I could be there for him,” Tuor replied instead of crying as a boy would or screaming at the unfairness of it all. At least it wasn’t a lie.

“I can”, Itarillë commented, eyes glimmering strangely. If he didn’t know her better, this’d be a harmless, comprehensive statement. The truth was harsher and rawer: their son was the most important being in this world for his wife and a maltreatment done to him meant a maltreatment done to her as well. Not being around was one.

She worked from sunrise to long hours after it set, trying to manage the food and the water, creating their temporary homes and attempting to deal with the waves of wounded people. The survivors needed a strong ruler and Itarillë took her father’s mantle without hesitating. Tuor, however, was toiling with Eärendil’s worst torment: battle and soldiers. No matter how great the fear felt in his chest, it was far better than tormenting his child with bloodstained hands, armor and weapons.

“If he saw me there, he’d be terrified,” the words were heavy and unnatural on his tongue, full of a grief impossible to understand before. In another world, kinder and unreal, there wouldn’t be a single reason for his son be afraid of him. In this one, the list of motives was an endless, terrible thing.

“You sound just like my father,” Itarillë said, a fond, tired smile on her lips, “aunt Írissë would slap some sense into your stubborn head, husband.”

Tuor tried to laugh – King Turucáno’s sister seemed to be a fantastic woman and this kind of warm story was his favorite –, but true joy, especially one so silly and childish, tasted like erosion and putrefaction, a reminder of a past distant enough to be a star, even though everything was achingly recent and still fresh on his mind. The world had become so dark and it was so strange to lack hope, his most insistent and completely senseless companion through life.

He missed Eärendil, missed Ondolindë, missed his friends – the Lords were all so regal and proper until you met them, those carefree, ordinary men –, missed peace and missed a few moments to breathe. Their lives were racing towards an unknown place and future wasn’t half as appealing as it was previously. Valar above knew, though, that Tuor wasn’t one to give up even if all was lost and, if there was a single thing to be done, he’d do it without hesitating. Reluctance shouldn’t even exist nowadays.

“I’m going to make time for him,” his voice was hoarse and low from days and more days screaming and howling and groaning, but the dedicated fondness there couldn’t be missed even by a deaf man. Itarillë kissed him softly, appearing so sad and yet so relieved. Tuor didn’t think he could love anyone more than his strong, gentle wife and beaming young Eärendil.


End file.
